by Mark Baldwin
I WAS just seven minutes away from the fight hotel in Birmingham. I then uttered the words, “It’s been a smooth journey with no hold ups,” when the M42 suddenly took its revenge. I’m convinced the motorway karma police had heard me, and all exits off the M42 were instantly blocked. Seven minutes became 37. The car sat nav, and the equivalent on my mobile phone that had a far better knack of pointing out road closures were now in play. For full disclosure, I wasn’t driving, the long-suffering wife was. I sensed her stress levels rising. My words were very carefully chosen for the extended and final 37 minutes of the journey. I didn’t want the fights to start early.
We eventually got there. The usual brigade of fighters milling around the hotel foyer, seemingly without a care in the world. Posing for selfies with friends and family before they had to leave for work. A brutal trade where one fight, one punch even can change everything for them.
Fighting for attention alongside the tight t-shirts and baggy tracksuits were an unusual sight of extreme glitter dazzling the confused punters who had come for nothing but blood. These were not fight fans. Anyone could see that. We do have a certain look, after all. It was apparently a glitzy ball for some awards for a different trade.
A large contingent of farmers were in town for recognition for their work. The men suited and booted, the women looking splendid in the poshest of frocks. Only Jeremy Clarkson was missing, it seemed. Although, in truth, I could have used him when my pre-fight food arrived with extremely cold chips. Clarkson like me doesn’t like cold food when it should be served hot. Although we do have different ways of making our feelings known on such matters.
I was in town not to watch the hard-working and underappreciated farmers have their moment, but to watch a little bit of boxing courtesy of Frank Warren and Queensberry Promotions. The usual confusion of collecting my media pass always offers much amusement, jeopardy even at times. This time, it was a rather long walk around the back of that old Birmingham Arena that once had NEC on the front door in search of a secret door labelled A5. Even a security guy who was stood right in front of it didn’t initially know of its existence.
The show on paper might have promised very little. But in reality, it delivered everything and a little bit more. The Saudi-backed shows have, without too much argument, diluted the quality of the home-product. The frequency and standards of the UK shows have dropped, in some promotions rather significantly. But Warren has certainly avoided the quality dump better than his rivals. Where some have failed, he has maintained his high standards. We saw a little of that on Saturday night.
The early fights were a mixed bag. But they largely kept my attention. But the top three fights on the card delivered everything a fight fan could ask.
Ben Vaughan stepped up at short notice to challenge for the WBO European welterweight bauble against Ekow Essuman. Blood, guts, and a very good fight were what we got. Vaughan was incredibly brave and very nearly pulled out the win despite looking on the way out many times over their 10 savage rounds.
It was a fight that had the feel of a York Hall classic when nobbins would have been more than appropriate. Essuman, who makes a habit of fights like this, carried his belt proudly to breakfast on Sunday morning. Even while he was consuming from the hotel buffet, he wouldn’t let go of his precious WBO bauble. To him, it is everything. We saw that the evening before. Vaughan will come again. We shouldn’t forget what he served up. The two produced everything that is good about the sport. A totally unexpected gem of a fight.
On Friday night, I finally found some time to watch that brutally honest interview of Seniesa Estrada with Crystina Poncher that they did together for Top Rank. A retirement interview that saw Estrada open up on the physical and mental brutality that boxing subjects its workers to. Estrada was beyond brave in that interview. Poncher judged the tone perfectly. If you haven’t seen it, you must watch it. It’s riveting viewing. If a little uncomfortable at times.
I thought of Chantelle Cameron at various times while watching that interview. In different ways to Estrada, Cameron has suffered because of boxing. You could imagine a similar sit down with the former undisputed super-lightweight world champion. Boxing hasn’t always been kind to her. Trust me, I am being kind with that statement.
This year, Cameron has changed her promoter and her trainer. A period of finding herself again. Finding her love for the sport again. Cameron is getting there. I thought she showed the improvements that she has talked about since hooking up with Grant Smith in Sheffield on Saturday night against Patricia Berghult. The partnership is developing. So is Cameron.
Cameron eased to a one-sided points victory over the former world champion. It will go unnoticed by some, but Cameron made a little statement in her win over Berghult. A big 2025 now awaits. Cameron was happy with her performance. But even more crucially, she is happy again, period. After watching that gut-wrenching interview with Seniesa Estrada, I can appreciate that more than ever now. Boxing takes a lot. It shouldn’t take everything. Estrada is currently writing her life story. Surely, one day, Chantelle Cameron will do the same.
Shabaz Masoud was the star of the show in Birmingham. He could be an even bigger star down the road. A breakout performance that earned his promoter a few more points on the door in his little personal and now friendly rivalry, with Frank Warren. Liam Davies lost his IBO super-bantamweight title at the hands of an inspired and quite brilliant Masoud. An in-ring war that took place in a vocal and passionate atmosphere, and one that thankfully didn’t boil over into anything more. Rival fans that generated a genuine big fight feel.
Masoud started fast, but there was always the feeling that Davies would at some point eradicate that early and substantial points deficit. More than once, I thought of Colin Jones and his two fights with Kirkland Laing. But despite some fleeting moments of hope, Davies couldn’t quite find what he needed. Although one judge somehow and inexplicably saw Davies as the winner. From ringside, I could only give him three rounds. Even four rounds was a touch generous. In no way, shape, or form, did Davies win that fight. Boxing never ceases to find a way to surprise us. Although, in truth, we are not surprised anymore. That right there is the problem. We accept the ridiculous far too easily. Although, many would use far stronger words.
